Mots Dans L'eau
by synchrostatic
Summary: [Zexion and Demyx] These words of love that we whisper can be heard throughout the universe and beyond. [A collection of drabbles.]
1. In Absentia

**M o t s D a n s L' e a u  
**_Words in the water._

**Disclaimer:** I went to Japan to try and own Kingdom Hearts and all I got was this lousy Square-Enix t-shirt.

**Author's Notes:** Some of you may know me, some of you might not. Either way, I hope you enjoy this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it.

* * *

**A b s e n t  
**_When you're not here, you're the only thing on my mind._

It's the rain that ultimately breaks him. It's so much like _him_ – untamable and wild; frightening, even, and yet at the same time, calming, like the nostalgic and comforting sound of pattering against the window pane.

That explained Demyx perfectly, in all actuality. A contradiction to himself; a living, breathing oxymoron as unpredictable as the sea. Singing love songs one minute and crying the next, he never failed to amuse the older Nobody with the mood swings that he ultimately wasn't supposed to have.

That didn't stop Demyx though; he stubbornly clung to the belief that they in fact _did_ have hearts, Mister Smarty-Pants-with-too-many-books; they were just hidden away, trapped within the darkness that overcame them. They weren't looking for Kingdom Hearts; they were searching for light. After all, he often reasoned, amused at his own wit, how can you _miss_ Kingdom Hearts? It's the moon!

And that is why Demyx is able to feel – smile, laugh, cry, yell – all because he says he's already found his light. It was tangible, too – he could hold it at night, kiss it goodbye in the mornings, and even call out its name. Zexion.

The Cloaked Schemer sighs and sets down his pen, staring at the rain drenched window. He's remembering too much – those eyes, those _lips_ – and it's all he can do not to scream. He's been away too long. His mind knows it, and his body does, too. Far too long without touch, far too long without sound.

He'd promised – _promised_ that no, I won't touch anyone else but you, and the words whispered in my ear will never belong to anyone else. I _promise_ you, Demyx, I _promise_, now **please** stop crying. I won't be gone long, and I'll be home before you know it.

But they did know it – both of them did. A few days turned to weeks, which turned to months. At this rate, he'd be spending years in this godforsaken place, stripped of the one thing he wants most.

_Demyx._ He wants _Demyx._

The echoing halls are too quiet, too bare without him there. Everywhere Demyx goes he has an aura to him – it brightens the day and makes their lives just a bit less gloomy when he's around.

Zexion's non-existent memories are _fading_, they're fading back into the nothingness, and he desperately clings to all that he has, because without that, he has no reason to hope, no reason to continue.

His smiles have worn away, and he feels drained of any warmth, any happiness he once had.

He sighs once more, and stands from the white-marbled desk. As he meanders around the lifeless room, he pauses before the window.

I must be going crazy, he thinks, staring as each raindrop caresses the blurred glass. All he can think about is Demyx, Demyx, Demyx, and he's frightened – frightened of what might befall him.

As of late, his work isn't quite, "up to par" as the cursed blossom-haired Nobody had commented, sitting upon his throne where he hadn't so much as lifted a finger to help their cause.

Hypocrisy, he often mutters, rewriting the same report for the umpteenth time. But none of it matters, because it's for _Demyx_ and for Demyx, he would move mountains.

With a huff Zexion throws open the window, the torrential waters drenching his face. And it's now that he smiles, now that he can close his eyes and relax with the chilling but comforting liquid upon his skin.

Because he knows that the one he wants misses him, and he knows that he's not alone.

Because he _swears_ that Demyx can feel this too.

* * *

**Reviews are appreciated, and go to keep the writer from starving. Please feed your authors, and review!**


	2. Breathless

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Kingdom Hearts. Sadly.

**Author's Notes:** I grappled with this for about a week. It didn't want to come out right, and I revised it at least a dozen times. Enjoy, and drop a review if you don't mind!

* * *

**B r e a t h  
**_I'll keep running until I fall, breathlessly, into your arms._

Demyx is sick of it. Lying, stealing, being called a _crusader_ in the name of Kingdom Hearts. The only word in his mind was murderer.

He can't take it anymore.

Away – he has to get away from the self-righteous lies that are slowly suffocating him; pseudo-truths that justify their cause.

And so, he runs. Far and fast. Straight towards the unknown, fireflies hurling past him – a starlit daze – faster , faster, until he can no longer run anymore; he collapses in a long-grassed field.

His conscious no longer knows where he is— a portal to the unknown and a leap of faith later, he finds himself in the resemblance of purgatory. He suffocates in the quiet, the dark. Sanctuary.

Ragged breaths come in sporadic puffs, hot beads of sweat trickling down his weary body as if on an imaginary strings. He needs breath.

The echoes of his footsteps ring throughout his ears. Every thump and scrape of dust –futile steps further from deceit.

All of it is in vain – he _knows_ escape is impossible. He _knows_ that he'll be discovered. Yet, he believes – believes that if he keeps running, skittering farther and father from _them_ like a frightened gazelle, he'll be free. Free to make his own choices; free to be whoever he wants.

He's drowning – falling into an endless abyss. He feels he'll soon grow mad with the silence. He needs someone. Anyone to tell him he's not a murderer, not just a tool, even if it's not real. He needs someone to say that he believes him, and I love you, Demyx, I love you.

Someone to say, "Come home."

And the stunned blond can hardly believe his ears as he feels arms tugging him to his feet, embracing him like a mother's lost child.

But his knees have gone weak with relief and buckle; for a moment he feels the sickly sweet sensation of falling, but arms are there to catch him, cradle him within warmth.

"Come home with me."

"I can't… Zexion, I can't…"

"You can."

"I can't… I'm not a murderer! I'm not…" he all but cries, his slender arms wrapping around his superior's lithe waist.

"You're not a murderer. You're not being used. Come home with me."

"I can't…"

"Demyx… I love you. Come home."

And Demyx falls speechless. Zexion knows – Zexion _always_ knows. He knows that if he says those words, whispering them sweetly in his ear…

"Alright."

Because the truth is, he lives off these lies – off this deceit.

Because Zexion makes the silence disappear, the sound of his even breath the sweetest thing Demyx has ever heard.

* * *

**Reviews, please? I love feedback. -wink-**


End file.
